Send Nudes
by EmmaLThornwood
Summary: It's not like they've never explored this territory before. Not Adam and Gansey, but Adam and Gansey and Ronan. It's been a long time. Since late high school, at least, and Adam's twenty-two now—in his last year of undergrad. But he remembers everything about it. Remembers what Gansey sounds like when he's verging on desperate. Spoiler alert: it's just like this.


**Ronan**

**received (5:21 pm)**

_I'm bored entertain me_

**sent (5:27 pm)**

How, exactly, do you expect me to entertain you from Cambridge?

**received (5:29 pm)**

_Send nudes_

It's a joke. _Obviously_, it's a joke. Ronan Lynch is not a shallow creature, despite how some may perceive him. He doesn't request things like this of Adam. They don't have text sex or phone sex or Skype sex. The closest they usually come to discussing any sexual content is when Ronan checks to make sure Adam's been able to get himself off in the past _month_, because sometimes it's a problem and sometimes he's too busy and sometimes he has to be reminded that _even geniuses have needs, Parrish, that's probably why you've had a stick up your ass for a week_.

But, no. Not this. Never this.

Which is exactly why Adam does it.

He knows Ronan won't anticipate it. Knows he'll be completely blindsided.

He doesn't bother to text back a confirmation, just locks himself in the bathroom of his shared suite, strips, jacks himself for a second—not to feel it, just to get his cock a little closer to _hard_ than _not_—and snaps a picture in the mirror.

He hits 'send.'

He doesn't even have his pants all the way back up when Ronan calls.

"I've got a study group to meet with in half an hour and a ten minute walk across campus," he warns in lieu of a greeting, "so if you're gonna lay into me for bein' a shithead, make it quick."

"Adam."

Whoa. _Whoa. _

It's _Gansey. _

In a flash of panic, Adam checks to make sure he sent the photo to Ronan. That he received the call from Ronan's phone.

Affirmative.

"I'm at the Barns. Ronan is in the kitchen. He left his phone in the living room and asked me to check it for him when he heard that he'd gotten a text," Gansey presses on. He sounds winded. Like he's just run up a flight of stairs, or maybe like he's just seen his best friend of countless years naked and half-hard for the first time in…

Well.

It's not like they've never explored this territory before.

Not Adam and Gansey, but Adam and Gansey and _Ronan_.

It's been a long time. Since late high school, at least, and Adam's twenty-two now—in his last year of undergrad. But he remembers everything about it. Remembers what Gansey sounds like when he's verging on desperate.

Spoiler alert: it's just like this.

So, so carefully, because he's afraid he's edging too close to something that isn't there—afraid he's wrong, and that Gansey just called to berate him for sending Ronan _I Hate Technology _Lynch such a photograph when it could feasibly have fallen into the hands of anyone in the tri-state area, Adam asks, "You need some attention, Gans?"

Gansey releases a breath. It's the most unmeasured sound Adam has ever heard him make.

"Go get Ronan," he encourages gently. "Go get him so I can talk to you both. It's okay."

Adam hears rustling (blankets; he can picture Gansey curled up on the couch in a plethora of them) and then shuffling (feet, undoubtedly clad in thick, wool socks) and then, "Ronan?"

Distantly: "What?"

Silence.

Gansey must be showing him the picture, because the next thing Adam knows, Ronan's voice, clear and distinct enough that he has to be holding the phone now, is asking, "Parrish, what the _fuck_?"

"Listen to me," Adam says. He's managed to get himself fully dressed again by this point, but his dick isn't leaving the conversation anytime soon. "I know this hasn't happened in a while—like, close to five years—but how okay are you still with the idea of doing…you know, _things, _with Gansey?"

Ronan hesitates. "If this is a loaded question, I'll kick your ass. You know I don't lie."

Adam rolls his eyes. Of course this is the first place Ronan goes. "It's not a loaded question. It's not like we weren't together then, too. I'm very cool with you being cool with it. I think he's. I think he needs you."

Adam can practically feel Ronan assessing Gansey from the other line, eyes sweeping slowly over him in his entirety, probably disheveled and pink-cheeked and as gorgeous as ever.

"Yeah," Ronan finally says. "Okay."

"Can you put me on speaker, please?"

The distinct, low hum of static tells Adam that Ronan has.

"Gans, I don't want you to freak out about this, okay? If you don't wanna do it, that's one thing. Stop me right now and I'll drop it."

Gansey does not stop him.

"You know how much I love Ronan, yeah? How much I trust him?"

"Yes," Gansey says. It's barely a word.

"I'm not worried about this. I'm really into it, actually, and I hope you know I wouldn't say that if it wasn't true."

"I." Adam imagines Gansey running a hand through his hair in the pause, ruffling it further than it's always perpetually ruffled. "I do. Yes. I know."

"Good," Adam breathes. "I'm going to text my friends and tell them I'll be late. Can you let us take care of you?"

There is a quiet sound from the other line, and Adam thinks that maybe Ronan has just kissed Gansey. He closes his eyes. Leans back against the bathroom sink. Palms himself through his sweats.

"I think he can," Ronan answers.

Adam smiles and aches, just a little, with wanting. He wishes he could touch them. Even just look at them.

And then, he realizes, he _can. _

"Wait, I want to—I want to see. I didn't think about it before, but—hold on. I'm gonna hang up and video call you."

Adam doesn't wait for a response, he just does it.

Ronan answers on the first ring, and Adam's breath catches in his chest. It's been a few weeks since he's seen him, and his hair is freshly shaved, his patented, devilish grin turning up one corner of his mouth. He licks his lips before parting them to speak, low and rough. "You gonna tell us what to do, boss?"

"Yeah," Adam says, because he is. There's no point in pretending that isn't how this works. It always has been.

He steps out of the bathroom cautiously, even though he has the suite to himself for the moment, and heads to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him before climbing onto his mattress. "Go on upstairs and get in bed. Try to find a way to angle the phone so I can see everything."

Ronan salutes him, because he's an asshole, and then—Adam is _fairly_ sure; Ronan's face is still the only thing that's fully visible, but his shoulder flexes like he's extending his arm—reaches out for Gansey's hand.

As they're making their way up the stairs, Adam takes the opportunity to send a quick message to his study group's Facebook chat to tell them he won't be there until closer to halfway through their two hour session, and then clicks back to the video screen.

Immediately, he's met with the sight of Gansey. If he hasn't seen Ronan in weeks, he realizes, he hasn't seen Gansey in _months. _He's wearing his glasses rather than contacts today, and he's in a grey t-shirt and a pair of light jeans, which is unusual and, on someone whose go-to fashion statement is _overdressed_, somewhat striking.

"Hi," he says, obviously nervous. He's trying to adjust Ronan's phone into a position that keeps the length of the bed fully accessible to Adam's view without tipping it over. "Sorry. Just a second."

"Take your time," Adam tells him, and then, because he can't help himself, "You look really good."

"I keep telling him he should dress like a blue-collar citizen more often," Ronan teases, appearing behind Gansey and reaching around him to move something Adam can't see closer to the phone to prop it up. "Kinda hot when he's not trying to be pretentious."

Gansey's whole face is flushed.

"You're allowed to accept compliments," Adam reminds him. It isn't quite a command, but then, Adam is sure Gansey remembers, his commands aren't always as straightforward as they could be.

"Thank you," Gansey says, quiet, to both of them. He isn't uncomfortable, just shy.

"I want you to lay down," Adam tells him, letting his own legs fall open. "Ronan, lay next to him on your side."

It's almost like watching a film reel of their eighteen year old selves, both as beautifully obedient to Adam as ever, moving together so fluidly it's as if they've never stopped.

Gansey settles onto his back, and Adam can tell how hard he already is, straining against his jeans, nipples clearly visible through the thick cotton of his shirt. Beside him, Ronan's solid black attire masks his arousal too well for Adam's tastes, but he doesn't ask that Ronan undress. He wants to drag this out. Wants to make it last long enough that they're all not only satiated, but satisfied.

"No touching below the waist," Adam says. The _yet _is implied. "Anything else you want to do, go ahead. Just stay where you are—for the most part, at least—so I can see both of you."

Ronan meets Adam's eyes on the screen, and then leans over Gansey and kisses him.

Maybe Adam was wrong before. Maybe what he heard was a kiss on the cheek, or on the shoulder, or somewhere that wasn't Gansey's mouth.

Gansey certainly didn't pant into it like this. He certainly didn't make hushed, needy noises in the back of his throat.

Adam watches him lick into Ronan's mouth, eyes squeezed closed like everything is too intense, like if he opens them it will all disappear.

Ronan kisses like he always does—to soothe. His right hand is in Gansey's hair, smoothing it back, nails against scalp, and his lips are languid and sure. He doesn't want to rush it, either. Adam knows this is just as much because he wants to put on a good show as it is anything else, and it sends a shiver down his spine.

He lets himself trail his fingertips over his chest, but not below his shirt, and not for long. Just enough sensation to keep him grounded.

"Gansey, if you get overwhelmed, you have to let us know. Deal? Even if you just need to slow down for a minute. We want you to feel good. This is _for _you."

"Yes, Adam," Gansey says, and then he catches Ronan's hand, guides it down from his hair, and rests it against the base of his throat.

Ronan looks to the phone. To Adam. Then to Gansey. His eyes are wide. "Are you—do you want me to _choke_ you?"

"Gently." Gansey's voice is hardly there. Adam almost doesn't catch it. "Not—not _choke_, just…restrict."

"Fuck." Adam watches Ronan's fingers tighten nearly imperceptibly around Gansey's neck, and Gansey's eyelids flutter, pressure increasing on Ronan's wrist. "This is new. We have definitely never gone here."

Adam is already losing his fucking mind, but it's fine. He's fine.

"Little bit more, Ro," he says, and squeezes at his dick through his pants again, because he has to. He's so hard the lack of pressure hurts. "Just the sides. You're trying to cut off the blood, not the oxygen."

Ronan bites his lip and does as he's told.

Gansey opens his mouth in a silent groan, hips raising barely an inch off the bed.

Adam feels heat pool in his stomach. _He's _doing this. Whatever he wants, he can see.

"That's good," he tells Ronan, who backs off immediately, just slow enough for the blood to flow back in at a steady pace. "You can do it again, but give him a few minutes first. Feelin' okay, Gans?"

"Spectacular," Gansey says, because of course he does.

Ronan snorts.

"Is there anything you want to do?" Adam asks.

Tentatively, Gansey turns his head and murmurs something into Ronan's ear.

Ronan lets out a breath like he's been punched. "Yeah," he says, tone chock-full of lust. "This is a two-way street, man. If you want him to do something, you can share with the class."

"Adam?" Gansey asks. "Would it be all right if we watched you…touch yourself? While we, um, do what we're doing?"

Adam closes his eyes and _does not come _completely untouched and two minutes into this ordeal, thank you.

"Okay," he agrees.

Gansey audibly swallows.

It is, to Gansey and Ronan's credit, rather difficult for Adam to place his phone at a decent angle on his nightstand and keep it upright, but he manages, and then has the bright idea to extract his headphones—AirPods, which makes him feel kind of like a dick and kind of like he's becoming who he's worked to be his whole life—from their case inside his bedside drawer, just in case any of his roommates return. He can keep himself quiet, but there are no guarantees on the other end of the phone.

"Is this good?" he asks, eyes trained on Gansey's already kiss-swollen lips. "Can you see?"

"Yeah, Parrish," Ronan tells him. "Perfect."

Adam nods, lets his head fall back against his pillow, and breaches the waistband of his sweats, brushing the backs of his fingertips over his cock through his underwear.

Ronan swears.

Gansey twines their fingers together and lifts Ronan's wrist to his mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath his ever-present leather bands.

Adam watches, captivated, as the act monopolizes Ronan's attention. His eyes snap from Adam to Gansey, and he turns just enough to press into Gansey's hip, such a fluid motion Adam isn't sure he realizes he's doing it.

"Ronan," he says, as even as he can while he's teasing his own cock. "Not yet."

"Sorry," Ronan breathes, stilling himself. "Didn't mean to."

"I know," Adam assures him. "_Above the waist_. Just try to remember."

Almost as though he's comforting Ronan, Gansey slips one arm beneath him and pulls him more tightly against his side, head bent to begin working a slow trail of kisses across his shoulder and up his neck.

Ronan makes a ghost of a noise, eyes falling closed, and wraps his arm over Gansey's waist, pushing up the hem of his shirt and finding purchase in the soft flesh of his hip.

Adam allows himself a moment to drop any kind of guard he has up and just feel whatever he's going to feel about it, still above the maddening layer of his underwear but fingers fully outlining his length now.

It's almost more than Adam can take, seeing the two of them together like this. It's hard enough convincing himself every day that Ronan is really _his_, really isn't going anywhere, but this takes it to an entirely different level. Ronan belongs to him so thoroughly, so _completely_, that they can have this with no repercussions. No fears. No doubts.

He pulls off and, for the second time, very pointedly does not come.

Ronan's got his hand all the way up under Gansey's shirt now, and Adam can tell he's playing with his nipples both by location and Gansey's reaction.

"Good?" Ronan asks, because he's the type of person who always genuinely wants to know if what he's doing is pleasing the person he's doing it to. "Drives Adam insane."

"_So _good," Gansey says. He sounds a little detached. Not quite like himself. "I would…I'd like to see you do this. With Adam."

"Oh, yeah? You wanna watch us next time?"

Ronan must do something different—pinch harder or flatten his thumb down or something—because Gansey groans, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Yes."

Adam could die. He isn't entirely sure how he's supposed to lay a finger on himself and not lose it.

"What do you think, Parrish?"

"Yeah," Adam says, working his way a little lower to press against his hole through his boxers. "We can make that happen."

He doesn't think there's any way it can be obvious with his clothes still, for the most part, _on, _but Ronan must be able to tell exactly what he's doing, because he pulls away from Gansey all of a sudden, sits halfway up, and says, "No. That's mine."

This is the only area in which Adam grants Ronan permission to dictate what he does. Ronan loves the idea of Adam fingering himself, but he loves the idea even more of Adam not having been touched _there _since they were together last. Since Ronan left him sore and hollow and begging.

"Okay," Adam concedes, removing his hand and holding it up so Ronan can see it. "You're right. I'm sorry. If you have to listen, so do I."

"Adam," Gansey whispers.

Adam turns his attention to him. So does Ronan.

"May I please—I won't _do_ anything, but can I just—" His fingers are tugging at the button of his jeans, and Adam feels a twinge of sympathy.

"You can unzip them, Gans. That's fine. Go ahead."

"Thank you," Gansey says, but when he tries to undo his pants, Ronan smacks his hand out of the way and does it for him.

"Just for a second," Ronan bargains, and Adam instantly understands what he means. "He's dying here."

Adam sighs, but nods his head.

Ronan reaches into Gansey's underwear.

His hand is dry, which means, Adam knows, that it's rough—farming calluses are the real deal—but Gansey doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he doesn't seem to be feeling anything but near-debilitating pleasure.

"_Oh_," he says, airy and rushed, gripping Ronan's arm. His head is tipped back so far Adam can see a vein in his neck protruding slightly, and his feet (Adam was right; he's wearing argyle wool socks) are bowed.

"Breathe, man," Ronan tells him, both amused and so turned on that red is starting to creep up from under his ribbed tank.

Adam knows it isn't a good idea to start touching himself again. Knows if they let this go too long, he won't last anytime. But he can't help himself. He needs to feel something. Needs to imagine that he's there, that Ronan's other hand is on him, or maybe that Gansey's is.

He strokes himself once, and then has to stop and grip his base, because, wow, he _really _doesn't have his shit together right now.

He wants to draw it out, but he needs to see more. If he can't _feel_, he needs to see—

"Fuck it. Just. God. Clothes off. Both of you."

Ronan's head snaps up in surprise, which tells Adam he's been doing a good job of seeming composed until now.

"Any particular way you want that to go down?" he asks.

"No," Adam says, sitting up and stripping his own shirt over his head. "Whatever. Take them off each other. Take them off yourselves. I don't care. Just take them off."

Gansey's eyes are flitting back and forth from Ronan to Adam like he can't decide who he's supposed to be focused on, and Ronan takes the opportunity to lift him up and pull his shirt off.

Adam's working his sweats off his legs, but he stops when he sees Gansey's bare torso.

Gansey is. He's crazy to look at. Where Ronan is hard muscle built from a life of fighting and running and, now, more than anything else, farming, Gansey is smooth as marble. Where Adam is all wire and sinew, Gansey displays a kind of elegant strength that needs no perfectly defined angles to prove itself. Adam has been told on a suspicious number of occasions that he looks like a high fashion model, with his sunken cheekbones and full lips and the prominent spattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. If this is true of him, Gansey looks like he should be modeling for Michelangelo. He looks like he should be sculpted from stone. Cast in clay. Bronzed and memorialized. He looks like a god.

"Want you to leave a mark on him, Ronan."

Ronan grins wickedly, and Adam watches his tattoo ripple with the movements of the muscles beneath it when he bends so far down he's practically doubled over, clamping onto the spot just below Gansey's ribs with his teeth.

"Is this okay?" Adam asks quickly, when he hears Gansey's breathing pick up.

"God," Gansey says. "Yes."

Before Adam can instruct him to, Ronan slides a hand up Gansey's front and lands at the base of his throat, fingers wrapping around it for a second time.

Adam doesn't know, in all the times they've done this, if he's ever heard Gansey moan before now.

"Sound so pretty," he says, discarding the rest of his clothing and leaning back against the headboard, one knee up.

When Ronan rights himself, lips spit-slick, there's a deep purple bloom welling up on Gansey's side. He does not let go of Gansey's neck.

Gansey moans again, and it's different this time, but not like he's having trouble breathing. Almost like he's high.

"Too much?" Ronan asks him.

"No," Gansey manages. His dick is fighting desperately to press his underwear out of the way, and there's a wet patch at the front of them that keeps growing larger.

"Ronan," Adam says. He's holding his cock against his stomach with one hand so that Ronan can see the other and confirm that it isn't doing anything it shouldn't be. He's tugging at his balls with it, eyes heavy-lidded, blinking slow. "Clothes off. I don't wanna ask again."

Ronan isn't really in trouble, and he knows it—Adam's been enjoying the show too much—but he does let Gansey go to undress, and then pulls Gansey's jeans and underwear down his legs, tossing them to the floor along with his socks.

"How far do you want to take this, Gans?" Adam asks. "Anything you want to do is fine with me, as long as it's okay with Ronan. Anything you don't want is fine, too. You just have to tell us."

Gansey looks like he's about to hyperventilate.

"You need a minute?" Ronan asks, because he's the one who's used to asking it. Adam doesn't really know what signs to look for, he realizes. He's always the one exhibiting them. Ronan doesn't get overwhelmed during sex, but Adam does frequently, despite dominating the majority of the time.

"I—yes," Gansey admits. He sounds like he's choking. "I'm sorry. I don't want to stop. I just need to catch my breath."

"Don't apologize," Adam says, resting both hands on his thighs. "We'll all just take a second to cool off."

Ronan pushes himself up against the wall and spreads his legs into a V, patting the space between them on the bed. "Come here. Lean back."

Gansey does.

Adam thinks it must be at least a little uncomfortable for Ronan, as hard as he is, to have Gansey's back pressed up against him like this, but if it is, Ronan doesn't say so. He just wraps his arms around Gansey's waist, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his neck.

"You're hot," he says, and then laughs. "I mean, like, temperature hot. Do you want some water?"

Adam didn't think he could be more in love with Ronan.

He thought fucking wrong.

He's never seen him so careful with another person, and with anyone else it would feel wrong, like he was giving away something that should _only _be for Adam, but this is Gansey. _Their _Gansey, and _Ronan's _Gansey first, and it's beautiful and right and Adam wants to hold them both so badly his chest hurts.

"I'm fine," Gansey says, resting fully against Ronan's chest. "I, um. I like this. Sitting like this. It feels…nice. Safe. Maybe we could…"

"It's okay, Gans," Ronan says, and kisses his head, and now Adam's pretty sure he's going to come just from watching Ronan like this. "Maybe we could what? What do you need?"

"Do you want to stay like that and let Ronan touch you?" Adam asks, because he's fairly sure that's what Gansey means.

Gansey ducks his head and nods.

"Oh," Ronan says, raising one brow. "Okay, yeah. We can do that. You just have to give me the green light, 'cause I'm not doing anything until you're ready."

"I'm—" Gansey tilts his head back, and Ronan catches his lips like he was born for it. "I'm ready. It's much easier to feel calm this way."

With Ronan wrapped around him, is what he means. Adam knows, because it's easier for him, too.

"If I'm moving too fast, tell me and I'll back off," Ronan assures him. He has one hand on either of Gansey's sides, thumbs stroking over the sensitive flesh, and Adam wants more than anything to take a screenshot, but he doesn't, obviously.

Ronan's head dips and he begins pressing kisses into the skin of Gansey's shoulder, one hand disappearing between them, the other staying put on Gansey's hip. Adam can tell he's touching himself, and the fact that he can't see it makes him wilder somehow, both with want and imagining. He wonders how careful Ronan is already being not to get himself off too soon.

Gansey must be able to tell what he's doing, because his breath hitches, and he manages to ask, "Are you—?"

"If you don't want me to yet, I'll stop." Ronan could be saying this to Gansey. Could be saying it to Adam. No matter what the present situation seems to disclose, he's has always been the most submissive of the three of them.

"No," Adam and Gansey say at the same time.

Ronan laughs breathily, leaning his head back against the wall, and lets his left hand travel up Gansey's stomach and across his chest.

Adam's fingers twitch on his thigh, but he isn't going to make any sort of contact yet. His dick is already pulsing against his stomach, begging him to come, and he knows he will the second he stops fighting it.

"Ronan," Gansey whimpers, and fuck if that's not the greatest thing Adam's ever heard. "Me, too. Please. I. I'm."

"And here I was worried you wouldn't be able to keep up with me," Ronan teases, leaning forward again to bite down gently at the top of Gansey's spine. And then, because he knows this is going to be a means to an end, because they're all getting too close, "Do you remember the rules?"

Gansey presses more tightly to Ronan, allowing him to reach around and take hold of his cock. "Number one," Gansey begins dutifully, strained and pleading, but still loud enough for Adam to hear. "If you need something, ask for it. Number two—_oh_—whatever Adam says goes. Number three, don't come without permission."

"Very good, Gans," Adam praises, clamping around his right wrist with the fingers of his left hand to keep it still, because he is _not _getting off before his boys do.

"Is this still how it works for the two of you?" Gansey asks, panting, eyes trained on Ronan's hand around him.

"Not always," Ronan says, which Adam knows is in reference to the rare instance that Adam prefers (_needs_) Ronan in control. "But more often than not, yeah. Is this a two-way street or what, Parrish?"

_This_ is in reference to the fact that Adam is doing nothing. "I can't," he says, and Ronan nods, and that's the end of that.

It truly isn't fair. He wants the full pleasure of this experience—wants to _feel_ something while he fixates on his boyfriend jacking himself and his best friend off at the same time, but he's so sure he's not even going to need physical sensation to get him there at this point it's unbelievable.

Ronan's periodically pressing his lips together and licking them apart, which is a huge tell of his, and Gansey's stomach is starting to display featherlight contractions that no one but Adam can see.

He isn't going to encourage it. He isn't. He can wait until they ask.

Blessedly, it takes less than a minute for Gansey to utter, "Adam—"

"Choke him," Adam instructs Ronan, "and both of you can come."

Ronan pulls Gansey's own hand to his cock to stroke himself while Ronan's fingers clamp around his throat for the third time, harder and tighter than they have yet, and then Gansey is coming and coming and coming.

Ronan's starting to shake behind him, but he keeps it together long enough to make sure it won't cut off Gansey's orgasm if he accidentally lets go (he doesn't) before dropping his forehead to Gansey's shoulder and making a soft, low sound that gives Adam absolutely no choice but to fist his cock and come, too.

They give themselves a few minutes to come down, in which time they all end up horizontal, Adam curled around his pillow, Ronan curled around Gansey, and then, quietly, Adam says, "Ro?"

"Hm?" Ronan asks, eyes half-open, focusing with all the consciousness he has left on the screen.

"Make him cancel whatever plans he has and bring him with you when you come visit. I want a turn."


End file.
